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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541172">Eternity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/almygdala/pseuds/almygdala'>almygdala</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>300 words, Blood, Death, Flash Fiction, Gothic, Horror, Original Fiction, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Religion, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Short Story, Southern Gothic, Wakes &amp; Funerals, gentle horror</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:00:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/almygdala/pseuds/almygdala</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Eternity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You were five years old, and it was the first time you had ever been in a church. Your folk weren’t the worshipping type; the only times you ever heard the lord’s name were as curses from your daddy’s liquor-wet lips, and, whenever you saw the Holy Bible, it sat where it always had: on the brick mantelpiece above the fire, collecting dust and ash. But your uncle had died a week before, and his last breath had been a wish for a holy burial, to save him from a life spent in the alleys between bars and whorehouses. So you were in church for the first time on a cold November morning, sitting next to your father. You were too young to understand what the preacher was saying to his congregation, but you did understand the fear you felt.<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You were frightened of the crucifix on the old, peeling wall; the gaunt face of Christ, permanently contorted into a ceramic wail of pain, was a horrific sight.You knew it was a statue, but it felt real; you could almost see his blood steam in the winter cold, and for a while you waited for his tears to drip onto the preacher’s shoulder. His eyes looked down at you, bloodshot and strained, and you wondered if this was salvation- sitting on a cold slab of wood and feeling afraid. The preacher’s words came more clearly to you now, and he spoke of hell and eternity, pain and repentance. It was a relief when you saw your uncle’s cold body, stiff in his wooden coffin; you were sure that neither heaven nor hell would touch him. He would be safe in the ground, protected from eternity of either extreme by his decay. You removed the cross from his neck. He was an earthly man, and on earth would remain. </span>
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